This poem is based on a story from a village in the north of Holland. It is in response to a university assignment about the vicarious representation of trauma in war. Ruby has yet to submit it, so she is very appreciative of any critical comments you may have.
In this stack I can smell the rats.
They were in here with me before.
That’s why mother made me mittens,
because my fingertips were bitten
as they rummaged for aardapplen.*
In this stack I can smell the rats.
They were in here with me before.
That’s why mother made me mittens,
because my fingertips were bitten
as they rummaged for aardapplen.*
The straw it keeps me warmer
than I’d be in frozen fields.
It’s humid with my breathing
The stench it gets me heaving
As mine mingles with the rodents’.
than I’d be in frozen fields.
It’s humid with my breathing
The stench it gets me heaving
As mine mingles with the rodents’.
Their men know we keep these straw stacks
to stop the ground from freezing.
Growing the little food we have;
My mother’s feeding twelve.
But this tuber’s getting wizened.
to stop the ground from freezing.
Growing the little food we have;
My mother’s feeding twelve.
But this tuber’s getting wizened.
I can smell those Krauts
like I smell my cabbage breath.
They’re looking for new recruits:
Dutch farm boys for Hitler youth,
and shooting those who’re craven.
like I smell my cabbage breath.
They’re looking for new recruits:
Dutch farm boys for Hitler youth,
and shooting those who’re craven.
Each day I hope he’ll leave me.
But I never know for sure.
I cannot trust my father -
he became a Kraut informer.
He shows no prejudice for kin.
But I never know for sure.
I cannot trust my father -
he became a Kraut informer.
He shows no prejudice for kin.
Time winds in stagnant moments
and I play with straws and light.
But in this steaming mound that’s stinking
a boy he gets to thinking
about how he’ll soon get even.
and I play with straws and light.
But in this steaming mound that’s stinking
a boy he gets to thinking
about how he’ll soon get even.
He comes back every night
with rations and wretched coins.
He stays to get his fark
as I scavenge in the dark
for pilfered food and kindling.
with rations and wretched coins.
He stays to get his fark
as I scavenge in the dark
for pilfered food and kindling.
He’s as weedy as a weasel,
but I've had to snap the necks of lambs.
Now I’m six foot four
I’m as broad as a barn door
from my mother’s farmer breeding.
but I've had to snap the necks of lambs.
Now I’m six foot four
I’m as broad as a barn door
from my mother’s farmer breeding.
I recognise my father
because I am like him in revolt.
I can hear his breathing
And again I get to heaving,
but I’ll take him in the open.
because I am like him in revolt.
I can hear his breathing
And again I get to heaving,
but I’ll take him in the open.
I belt out what they name him
so he thinks he’s up for work.
I wait for him outside
in this gripping chill, blindside.
No shelter from the coping.
so he thinks he’s up for work.
I wait for him outside
in this gripping chill, blindside.
No shelter from the coping.
He gives that customary salute
as he steps outside the door.
Then he sees my form and knows my ruse,
puts his face in mine and yells abuse,
not knowing how this son's growing.
as he steps outside the door.
Then he sees my form and knows my ruse,
puts his face in mine and yells abuse,
not knowing how this son's growing.
These expansive hands’av snapped the necks of weasels
and they’ve forked rats in the hay.
Now when the Krauts come for kartoffel ~
they can stick my father’s offal,
and know they’ve got their man.
and they’ve forked rats in the hay.
Now when the Krauts come for kartoffel ~
they can stick my father’s offal,
and know they’ve got their man.
* aardapplen -Dutch for potato
~ kartoffel - German for potato
09.05.11 (trauma and war) ~ kartoffel - German for potato